Worlds Between Us
by JaceK18
Summary: Not everyone who crossed Tom Riddle's path ended up dead. Amelie; Squib, scientist, works part-time at Borgin and Burkes, finds herself in another time, with none other than Tom Riddle by her side. Time-travel fic. OC-Centric.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Amelie lived in two different worlds. Or rather, she knew about two different worlds. She just lived in one. Most of the time.

Brushing her hair short brown hair into a ponytail, she quickly got ready for work. Mr. Borgin didn't require any fancy uniform, but she dressed in all black, just to match the attire of the people who often frequented the shop.

She sighed, already feeling the usual sense of dread she felt whenever she had to get ready for work. Mr. Borgin wasn't exactly a friendly man, but he was the only one to hire her. And it was at the antique shop, Borgin and Burkes that she would work, at least until she got her degree in physics and astronomy.

She changed in a cubicle, stuffing her university clothes in her backpack, not bothering to fold them, and made her way out of the bathroom.

There was also a feeling of nervousness that came along with it too. It stemmed off the anticipation and anxiety that something would go wrong, that Mr. Borgin would find out that she wasn't really a witch.

The old man didn't ask for a resume, didn't ask for any references. He just seemed glad that he finally had someone to dump all the work on, while he could go and relax after a long day at the back of the shop.

Amelie plugged her headphones in, and started making the journey, as she usually did, towards Egham station.

She checked her phone as she walked, still connected to the school's Wi-Fi. Hoping, like she always did, for a message from her sister and brother at Hogwarts. It was a stupid hope, really. She knew that muggle devices didn't work at Hogwarts, no matter how dependent people became on the technology.

And, well, since Amelie was a Squib, she became very dependent on Muggle technology.

She wondered what all the exciting new things her siblings were learning at Hogwarts. She of course, knew about the subjects, transfiguration, charms, potions… she had lost the feeling of exclusion long ago, but she had never lost the curiosity of knowing there was something out there that exceeded scientific knowledge.

And Amelie was very interested in science. That's what she was studying at the University of London. She was in her second year, studying two subjects that always made her feel like she was doing magic, albeit a very slow kind of magic.

She barely noticed her surroundings as they passed her by. Before she knew it, she had made it to Egham station. The train was arriving in a few minutes, and she eagerly tapped her Oyster card on, making her way through the turnstiles.

She didn't much mind the journey by train. She'd listen to music, or watch something on her iPad. Some days when her mind became too stressful for her, she'd distract herself by getting ahead on her school work, until she made it back to London, to the Leaky Cauldron, where she was renting out a room while she studied and worked.

The landlady, Hannah Abbott was a very kind lady, and knew how busy she was, having to work all night and study all day. She understood when her room was just a little bit too untidy on inspection day.

Her husband, Neville, was also very accommodating to her, knowing she was a Squib, and recounting his own stories about how he thought he was a Squib in his youth, too. Amelie laughed along with him, although inside she was always slightly annoyed. He was a wizard, and she had no magical powers whatsoever. It felt, not exactly unfair… but as if he was trying to understand something that he had no idea about…

Still, she understood his heart was in the right place, and she couldn't fault him for that.

The train ride went smoothly. There weren't any loud talkers in her carriage, or that one man who always got on at the same time she did, that spent most of the ride talking to his reflection in the window.

Still, she put her headphones in, and buried her nose in a heavy textbook about the physics of time (even though she didn't like reading, much, this at least was interesting), so at least if someone started a commotion, she could pretend she was oblivious to it.

By the time she reached London, she was feeling rather rejuvenated, even though she wasn't very excited to go to work, at least she could be immersed in a world of magic, even if she couldn't use it herself.

She got off the train, checked her phone for the time, and started rushing towards the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe she should get an Uber, she considered, and make the trip quicker.

But no, Mr. Borgin was going blind too, and could barely read a clock. He wouldn't care if she was a few minutes too late. He didn't even notice, the half-dozen times she did it.

The less time working in that shop, the happier she would be.

So she walked the streets of London, the sun had set long ago, and now the moon hung high in the sky.

The Leaky Cauldron's sign could be seen now a few metres away, swinging backwards and forwards in the wind. She shuffled her way over, none too quickly, dodging some lads wearing neon coloured snapbacks and baggy pants, as if they were stuck with the fashion sense of 2009.

They hooted after her as she passed, drunk, even though it was only a Wednesday night. Sighing, Amelie sped up quickly, and disappeared through the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.

Hannah Abbott was busy pouring drinks for the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, but she greeted Amelie with a smile as soon as she came in.

"All ready for work?" she called out.

"As ready as I can be." Sighed Amelie.

She weaved her way through the tables as she entered the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron. Hannah followed after her, knowing that she wouldn't be able to get into Diagon Alley without her help.

Amelie watched as she tapped the bricks with her wand, and they transformed into an archway, showing the deserted streets of Diagon Alley.

Hannah shoved her wand into the pocket of her green tartan dress, giving her one final smile as she left.

Amelie became accustomed to the dark streets of the wizarding village. It was practically deserted at this time of night, and her only company was the street lamps illuminating the cobblestones below her feet with a pale glow.

But Diagon Alley was not her destination tonight. She walked a little bit more, past the Gringotts bank, heading into the alley way towards Knockturn Alley.

Here, it was more alive, as it usually was at night time.

Witches, wizards, and other creatures from magical walks of life roamed the streets here. She waded her way through a group of vampires, and finally stumbled into Borgin and Burkes.

Mr. Borgin was assisting a group of witches and wizards, showing them the more tame antiques he had at the front of the shop. For all its bad reputation, Mr. Borgin kept trying to make strides into becoming a more reputable business, though Borgin struggled to say no to buying or selling a dark artefact to two.

As soon as he saw her come in, he left into the backroom, leaving the witches and wizards standing there, confused, until Amelie jumped in for Mr. Borgin.

"Hi," she said. "Can I help you?"

The wizards were young, probably Hogwarts aged, and if Amelie had to guess, probably in their 6th or 7th year.

"Sorry, yeah." One of them said, stepping forward. "We're just browsing."

Amelie nodded, with a bright smile plastered on her face. "Give me a shout if you need any help."

She walked around to the counter, avoiding tripping over the step that she fell over numerous times before.

Before long, the group left without buying anything.

A few more people entered the shop, and Amelie sold things, calculating the change expertly in her head. She was glad she was good at maths, because of course, there were no electronics in this shop, so calculators wouldn't work.

Then, as it was nearing one in the morning, with a woman with long grey hair, wearing a long black cloak came into the antique shop, a breeze blowing in after her.

"Hello." Amelie said. "How can I help you?"

The woman shuffled forward on a long black cane. Though she was old, the only lines on her face were around her eyes, and mouth.

"I have travelled such a long way." She said vapidly. She held a large velvet pouch which she pulled off her wrist, and placed it delicately on the counter. "I've wanted to get rid of this for ages."

Amelie frowned looking at the pouch. She lifted it up and opened it. Inside was an orb like a crystal ball, except instead of grey smoke, it glowed pink, green and blue.

She lifted it out of the pouch, examining it. "What is it?" it was light as a feather, and when she tapped it, she noticed it was hollow inside.

"An object worth more trouble than needed." The woman said. "Whoever touches it disappears, for a very long time."

Amelie dropped it immediately, like it was a hot coal. It bounced onto the counter and instead of shattering like she expected, it just rolled off the counter and onto the hardwood floor, where it lodged itself between two shelves.

The woman laughed. "No need to be so worried, it only harms non-magical folk."

Amelie's eyes widened to size of saucers. "I'm a Squib!"

"Ah," the woman said, the smile wiping off her face. "Well, I can see how that would be a problem."

" _A problem?"_ Amelie yelled. "You don't just go around giving people things like that without knowing whether they're Squibs or not!"

The woman backed away. "Well, you should have a sign up or something!"

 _A sign up!_ Amelie thought, absolutely outraged. The nerve of some people. But she needed to mind her temper before Mr. Borgin came in to see what was going on.

"Well, where will I end up?" asked Amelie. Hopefully nowhere too far from here. Amelie would hate to think about what Mr. Borgin would do when he noticed the shop abandoned.

"I don't know! I've never seen them again!" the woman turned and scarpered out of the shop.

Amelie swore loudly. Just her luck. "Stupid wizards." She muttered under her breath.

Should she have been more shocked? Probably. But she wasn't. Her day had been too exhausting to use more energy and emotions than the fake smile and friendly voice she reserved for the customers.

Inside, though, all she could think about was the stupidity of wizards. Typical that they would think that just because they were in a wizarding village, that every person here was magical. Once she came back, she would have to make a notice reminding people of the existence of Squibs. Maybe she would even try and write an opinion piece to the Quibbler. That would show them!

She sat there, fuming in her rage, waiting for the charm, or curse, or what-have-you take effect, but it was a few moments before anything happened, and then, just as Mr. Borgin came out of the backroom, quite belatedly, to see what all the commotion was, Amelie disappeared.

 **A/N: Hey guys! Welcome to my new fic! I've wanted to write a Tom/OC fic forever, and I'm finally beginning one. Though since I am working on an original novel, this one will be updated quite haphazardly. Reviews are motivating, and help me not leave things in the dust!**

 **I hope you like it!**

 **Question: Who's your favourite Harry Potter character?**


	2. Chapter 2

Amelie blinked in her new surroundings, which were not quite so different at all. The only thing that appeared to have changed was that now she had an annoying panging in her head.

Didn't that lady say that she would be taken to another place entirely…? Why was she still in Borgin and Burkes, still standing behind the counter as she had been only moments ago?

But then… where was that old, aristocratic-looking woman? Where had she disappeared off to? Amelie looked around, noticing only now, that she wasn't alone.

A tall, lanky man with wispy white hair covering the top of his forehead and glassy pale eyes was looking at her, a completely bemused expression on his face. He was standing next to a shelf, a black duster in hand.

"Who are you?" Amelie asked.

"Did you just accidentally apparate into my shop?" the man asked, ignoring her question. He had a cool, clear voice.

"Apparate?" said Amelie, frowning. "What do you mean? I work here. There was this woman-"

"Work here?" the man interrupted, quirking a pale eyebrow. "I'm afraid there's only Mr Borgin and me who works here at the moment."

"No…" I said. "There's only Mr Borgin and me. I've been working here since last year. I'm sure I'd know if there was someone else to take on my shifts. Listen, there was a woman who came in here-"

The man was looking at Amelie like she was insane. His right hand shifted and Amelie could tell he was making a move for his wand. "Listen, miss, if you want to submit your resume, I'm not stopping you, but don't pretend you've been working here if I've never seen you in my life."

Amelie realised now that there was something very off happening here. She looked around the shop. Things were… unfamiliar. The shelves were exactly the same, but the items within had changed completely. On the shelf directly opposite her, there was no longer the old, cracked foeglass, nor the foggy crystal ball, and in a glass case in the middle of the shop. Instead, there was an assortment of items that were apparently cursed, according to the sign that someone had put up there.

She stared mouth agape, at the old man. The robes he wore were long and black and made out of what seemed to be very fine material, and as she studied him a bit closer, she felt she recognised him from somewhere.

"I'm sorry," said Amelie, plastering her best customer service smile on her face. "I'm just a little bit confused. What did you say your name was again?"

"The name's Burke." He grunted. He had his hand over his wand but had not drawn it out.

The smile almost slipped from her face. "Burke?" she repeated.

He nodded his confirmation. "That's what I said. You been confunded or something?" then a darker look stole over his expression. "You haven't been… attacked or anything, have you?"

"Why would you think I've been attacked?" Amelie asked weakly.

"Well, you seem to be in a right state of undress, for starters. I've never seen anyone, witch or no wear clothes such as yours."

She looked down at what she was wearing. Black skinny jeans and a plain long-sleeved shirt. How could this be strange in any way? But then again, Amelie thought, he just said his name was _Burke_. It was possible that there were a few very odd things going on here.

"Okay." She said slowly, coming up with a million theories to explain what had happened, but she dared not say them out loud. "Listen, though. There was a woman. She wanted to sell an enchanted object to me, without explaining exactly what it was until it was too late. It was only after I touched the thing that she said that it was enchanted to send it's victim to another place as soon as they touched it… and so I guess I ended up here. Except..."

Burke raised his eyebrows as if to say 'go on', but she couldn't explain her rapidly processing mind. Amelie took a quick glance at the window, showing the illuminated streets of Knockturn Alley. It was still night time, but already things felt different in a way.

"I'm sorry," Amelie said abruptly. "I'm really sorry for bothering you. I really must get going."

Looking taken aback, but not wholly surprised (Amelie knew they got a lot of weirdoes in Borgin and Burkes), he let her leave without stopping her, and once she reached the streets of Knockturn Alley, she broke out into a run.

This was Knockturn Alley, but not as she knew it. Granted, wizards didn't change with the times like Muggles did, but there were small things that made it seem off-kilter. Looking through one of the windows of a shop that Amelie was sure had been boarded up when she saw it last – was a display of what appeared to be human hands and bones.

She knew of the stigma of Knockturn Alley. It had never quite lost the epithet of being a dodgy place, full of Dark wizards and Dark arts, but it was also making strides into becoming a more respectable place, with a lot of the shops showing more gruesome things – like the aforementioned human body parts – being closed down, or having to move their displays to the back of the shop.

But this was a Knockturn Alley where there had been no decrees of protection like this. People proudly flashed their Darkness and ambition for it

Finally, the thought that Amelie had been trying to repress since Mr Burke told her his name arose to the forefront of her mind. Had the object that the woman gave her transported her to a parallel universe perhaps, where Mr Burke was still alive?

She let her feet carry her through to Diagon Alley, aiming for the Leaky Cauldron, but immediately she noticed something missing. Yes… there was the wand shop, Ollivanders, and there was the Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, and she could make out the sign to Flourish and Blotts swinging in the darkness, lit by a tall oil lamp hovering high over her, but there was no Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She could not make out the joke shop in its usual spot, filled in the day with masses and masses of people, trying to get a glimpse of the war hero George Weasley, or his even more famous brother, Ron, on the days where he might visit.

She decided that she might have just missed it in the darkness, and assuming she could get some answers, she would try and find it in the morning.

When she reached the Leaky Cauldron, she noticed immediately the small differences here too. It was not Hannah Abbott who was up at the late hours of the night, and no barmaid looked at all familiar. Instead, there was a man at the pub, rubbing glass with a ragged cloth.

The man looked up when she entered, and she watched his eyes assess her. Amelie remembered what Burke had said, about her being in a 'right state of undress'. She wondered again, in what world would a long-sleeved shirt and jeans be _undressed_.

"Hello," he said brightly, as she ambled closer to him. "What'll you be having?"

Amelie eyed the other patrons in the shop before speaking to him. Not many people acknowledged her presence.

"Um, I think I'm renting a room here," Amelie said.

"You _think_ you are?" the man asked, a frown knitting on his brow. He pulled a sheet of parchment towards him. "Name and room number, please."

"Amelie Shaker. Room 27." She said, almost hopefully.

She watched his finger trail down the list. "Mm, no I've afraid that one's been booked already. Did you say your name was Emily?"

"Amelie. With an A." Amelie said.

"Right." He took another glance at the list. "No Amelie on here either."

"Oh," She felt the waves of disappointment wash over her, and the ever-lingering feeling of confusion intensified.

"Would you – er – like to rent a different room?"

Her first instinct was to say yes. But already logic was catching up to her, however logical this situation could be (but then again when was magic ever logical?). When the woman gave her that sphere, she left without any money. Nothing except for the clothes on her back. Her money pouch was under the counter at Borgin and Burkes, but she doubted that it would still be there, given all the other changes she'd seen.

"Um, maybe not right now. But could you tell me if you know a woman called Hannah Abbott?"

The man, if possible, looked even more perplexed. "No… no doesn't ring a bell."

"Are you sure?" Amelie pressed. "She's the landlady here."

An odd smile spread across the man's face, but he still looked confused. "There is no landlady here. It's only me."

If someone were to press their hand to Amelie's chest at this moment, they would feel her heart raging a tattoo. Her theory of being in a parallel universe was becoming more and more plausible.

"Are you all right?" the man asked, the smile had dropped from his face and he looked like he was considering giving a call to St. Mungo's.

"I think… I think I've just made a lot of scientists very, very happy." She muttered.

"Excuse me?" he asked. "Scientists? Are you a muggle?"

Amelie shook her head. "A Squib, actually, but it's easy to conflate the two." Even she was aware of the vague aspect of her voice.

The man just gazed at her, absolutely at a loss at what to do with her. "Listen – Amelie. If you want a room to uh … sort yourself out, I'll be happy to give you one for the night free of charge. And I can send an owl to this Hannah Abbott, too in the morning, or whoever you want to contact, all right?"

Amelie nodded. Yes, she would do whatever he said. She felt like she was in a daze. The pounding in her head had not yet subsided. The man looked at her for a long time, then walked around the bar table with a set of keys.

"Follow me," he said.

He let her stay in room 18, a dingy, one bedroom with a small bedside table, with a battered newspaper that had been left by the last person who stayed here. The man went to clear it up, but Amelie held out a hand to stop him. If her theory was right, there might have been a few significant changes in this universe – or wherever it was she'd ended up

Instead, the man lit up the end of his wand and conjured a fire to light an oil lamp that he summoned onto the bedside table so she could see once he had left.

Before he shut the door behind him he said, "Name's Tom, if you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask."

Amelie heard his footsteps thudding away. A sentence so inconsequential, she was sure was a line he delivered to all his tenants staying in the Leaky Cauldron, left Amelie with her heartbeat thudding in her ears.

 _It couldn't be,_ she thought to herself half in dismay, half in a sort of perverse excitement. She grabbed the round metal handle of the oil lamp and searched by candlelight the edition of _the Daily Prophet_ that had been left on the bedside table. It wasn't the day's paper, in fact, it was almost from a week ago.

Nevertheless, the date still told her everything she needed to know. Particularly the year.

If she was right in assuming that she arrived her on the very same date that the woman gave her the orb, then it was June 15th, 1946.


	3. Chapter 3

Being the daughter of a witch and wizard, Amelie knew that time-travel was possible – at least for magical people. Years ago, there were time-turners, little objects like necklaces that could take you a few hours back in time. But never for more than a few hours.

Amelie could guess at the reason why. Changing history could mean disastrous things for the world. Maybe there would have never been a stalemate between North Korea or South Korea, or the Cuban Missile Crisis might have escalated into a full-scale nuclear war.

That was if you believed in the Butterfly Effect.

Amelie didn't know what to believe now. A part of her was hoping, praying that this was a dream, and she'd wake up in her own room in the Leaky Cauldron, or maybe she dozed off reading Stephen Hawking in the library. But when did anybody realise a dream was a dream until they woke up? And when did dreams feel so intimately real?

She couldn't go to sleep for a long time since she read the date on the _Prophet._ She flicked through the entire paper, trying to see if maybe this was a joke. Every article seemed to be legitimate. There didn't appear to be anything noteworthy happening, really. Casting her mind back to her high school history classes, Amelie remembered that both the Muggle and wizarding wars ended in 1945. Grindelwald was no longer at large, and neither was Hitler and his Nazi regime.

Well, that gave her a small bit of relief. She wouldn't have to figure out a way to get back home with a war raging at the same time.

But Amelie wasn't a scientist for nothing. She needed more evidence that she really had time-travelled. She made notes in her mind. That woman had said the object was cursed to send people far away. She had never seen them again. Did that mean they were sent back in time too? Where there other people who had fallen to the same fate as Amelie?

One newspaper also didn't prove anything. In the morning, she would go out to London, and if the Muggles looked like they were dressed like they were in a period drama, then that would have just proved it, wouldn't it?

Amelie laid down in her clothes – she had nothing else – and pulled the musty covers over her. This was obviously one of the rooms Tom lent out for free, probably for people who became too drunk and passed out after too many firewhiskys. It had that kind of smell about it.

She didn't know when she fell asleep. She just knew it was all too soon when she woke up.

A narrow beam of sunlight shone directly on Amelie's face, revealing dust motes floating in the air. She opened her eyes as her sleepy body caught up to her mind. She didn't forget what happened last night, and now she was in a more aware mind, she felt even more nervous just thinking that she had ended up decades from the year she was meant to be in.

She got out of bed and pulled on her white Adidas shoes. She needed to brush her teeth, but without any toothbrush or toothpaste, how could she? She hoped Tom would at least let her have a shower before he kicked her out.

Steeling her nerves, she opened the door. She was only on the first floor, leading into the pub. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to leave the room right now but she had no phone, no money, and she was sure Tom would come for her sooner or later.

As she entered the pub, someone brushed by her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of a tall black-haired boy who apologised quietly before he was out the back door, leading into Diagon Alley.

Tom the barman caught up to her as she started making a beeline for the exit.

"Amelie –" he said quietly, as if he wasn't sure if he remembered my name right. "Listen, I tried to send an owl to Hannah Abbott, but my owl wouldn't take it."

"I wouldn't expect it to." she said, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Is there anyone else I can send an owl to, then?" he asked.

Amelie shrugged. "No,"

She saw his eyes swarm with pity, then. "Oh, I see. It's alright. We get orphans all the time here."

"I'm not an orphan." She blurted out quickly. And then there was the dawning sensation that technically, she _was._ She had no family. Well, there were her grandparents, but she didn't think they were adults yet – or that they had yet moved to Britain. Besides, what was she supposed to tell them? That she was their grand-daughter from the year 2017? Anyone would think she was insane.

Apparently, Tom could tell that she wasn't being completely truthful, because he looked at her sympathetically. "I can help you get a job in Diagon Alley. I would offer you one here, but we're overstaffed as it is. You can stay a few extra nights while I find you something."

He put a hand on her shoulder and smiled pitifully. Amelie was torn between being touched by his kindness, or chagrined at his assumptions. Amelie decided to be touched. At least he didn't ask questions. But she needed to find out a way to get home. If she got a job she would lose focus on what it was she was supposed to be doing. And she didn't want to be stuck in an entirely different decade _working_.

But then again, it would be nice to have a bed to sleep in.

Reluctantly, she nodded. "That would be fine. Thank you."

He nodded seriously. "I don't suppose you have any experience?"

"Er – you know, I worked at Bor – er, an antique shop once."

He nodded. "Any references?"

 _None that that would claim to have seen me in their lives._ She thought. She just shrugged half-heartedly.

"Education? A Muggle school, I suppose."

"Yeah." she said, not offering any more information.

Okay. He grabbed a napkin and a quill and started writing down an impromptu resume. She imagined him reading from the napkin to numerous faceless managers as he went around shops in Diagon Alley trying to get her a job.

She didn't doubt for a second that he'd be able to do it. She guessed it helped to have connections to basically every wizarding person in the United Kingdom.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"No."

She took that as permission to leave. She returned to her path to the door, to go into the world of Muggle London, but and idea struck her and she0 stopped to face Tom again, holding the door open just before she left. A breeze blew her hair into her face. "Why are you helping me?"

He shrugged. "Wouldn't be right to leave a girl on her own with no money." He said simply.

"Oh." She said. She nodded once, feeling oddly humbled. She turned and left out the door.

This was not London. Or it wasn't the London she knew. There were barely any cars, and if she did see some, they seemed like something out a vintage festival. The people that walked along the streets were segregated into modest dresses and skirts, or tweed pants and suspenders.

But the unfamiliarity wasn't the worst of it. Every time someone passed her by, they gave her strange looks, almost as if they didn't know what she was doing there, walking along the same streets as they were. The pale skinned, wealthy people of England. There was even a couple that crossed the road to avoid her.

She knew why. It was 1940's England and she had brown skin, dark curly hair, and dark eyes. She wasn't, by their standards, British.

She wished it didn't, but it only cemented her hypothesis that she had travelled back in time. If it wasn't the old fashioned clothes that gave it away, it was the overt looks people gave her, and the whispers she heard as they brushed her by.

The feeling of disquiet stole over her. She had never felt unsafe just walking before. Of course, she got people staring sometimes. Little kids. Sometimes grown adults. But she never got glares like this person was giving her now.

She lost her nerve. She turned around and started walking back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Back so soon?" she heard Tom's voice behind her. She jumped. She hadn't realized he was there.

"Yeah –" her voice was quiet. She tried again, clearing her throat. "Yeah. Um. Bit weird with the Muggles, isn't it?"

"I suppose so." Tom said, searching her expression. "I'm about to go to Diagon Alley, so if you want to come with me so we can find you a job…"

"Oh… yeah, alright." Amelie said weakly. Anything to take her mind off what had happened.

He nodded. Then paused. "Just wait a moment. There are some clothes that some people left while they were staying here. We can't go job searching with you looking like a – well, I'll just find you some clothes."

He left up some stairs, and Amelie pulled out a chair on and sat down before her legs could give way before her. She held her head in her hands. Time travel. Of course this had to happen to her. She would be vilified. Maybe not by wizards, but definitely by Muggles.

She looked up when she heard Tom's footsteps descending down some steps, a box filled with piles of fabric floating above him. He flicked his wand and it landed on the table before her.

"Pick something out you like, alright?" he said.

Quenching down her aversion for pre-used clothes, Amelie started sifting through the clothes, until she picked out a pair of mauve robes with silk trim around the edges. She pulled it on, feeling significantly more covered up.

"Done?" Tom asked, pointing his wand and flicking it at the box, where it floated back to wherever he had stored it before.

Amelie nodded. Tom gave her another look. He could tell she was upset. She plastered a fake smile on her face, which he seemed satisfied with. She followed him to the brick wall that separated them from Diagon Alley. He tapped the bricks with his wand, and it opened to an archway.

"Where do you want to start?" Tom asked.

Amelie shrugged. "Wherever."

"Right." He sighed. " Well, you'd have a right hard job trying to find work here with no magic."

She shrugged, almost shocked by his bluntness, but she had managed it before.

In the daylight, she noticed more things that she hadn't at night time. Many of the stores she passed on her way to work had not been created yet, like Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. In its place held a robes store that wasn't getting much traction. At least there was still Ollivander's, looking just the same as it ever did.

"A second hand book store wouldn't be too far off from an antique shop, now would it?"

"I guess not." Said Amelie.

She trudged alongside Tom as he took her inside. It turned out that they only accepted volunteers.

She wouldn't have minded working in there though. It was quiet, and not many people seemed to go in there, just like in Borgin and Burkes. In her time at least. Still, she needed to get paid.

As they walked through the streets of Diagon Alley, Amelie got lost in her thoughts.

It was easy to accept she had travelled through time. Less easy to accept that her entire life had changed. The Muggle world was not an accepting place for her, and she knew her forages into London would be few and far between, if every time she went people would look at her as if she was dangerous, or if she was dirt.

Wizards did not have race-based prejudice. Instead, they had blood-based prejudices. Amelie's father and step-mother were both magical, so were her half-siblings. They had accepted that she was a Squib. Both her parents were half-bloods, so it wasn't like they didn't know anything about living like Muggles. They encouraged her to do well in school, and supported her as best as they could when she discovered her passion for STEM classes.

Now her life was uprooted.

She tried not to let the dismay show on her face when they walked into another store. She had barely been paying attention when she realized it was a menagerie.

Cats purred, owls hooted and toads croaked. Numerous rabbits were in cages as well as an assortment of mice. There was a smell that made Amelie want to leave immediately and never come back.

"Tom," Amelie said.

"Yes?"

"I'm not really an animal person." She lied. It wasn't that she didn't like animals, it was more that she didn't like to look after them, especially so many.

"Well I'm sure if you just gave it a shot-"

"Trust me," she said. "This isn't for me."

So they went back outside. "Well, unless you want to look down Knockturn Alley, I don't think you'll be finding much work."

Amelie shrugged. Tom looked exasperated. She knew he was thinking that she didn't want a job, but it wasn't that she didn't want a job – she wanted a sense of normalcy. Everything had changed for her, and now there wasn't going to be an aspect of her life that stayed the same. She wanted to do something that she knew how to do –

The answer came to her.

"Well, why not Knockturn Alley?" she asked.

"Are you sure?" he looked at her like she was crazy. "There are a lot of weird people down in Knockturn Alley."

"I know, but it's better than nothing, right?"

He shrugged. Amelie walked alongside him as they walked the familiar path to Knockturn Alley. It suddenly got darker. The buildings were taller and more close together here, blocking out the sun and making it seem darker.

"Well," said Tom, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Where would you like to start?"

Amelie's eyes shifted towards Borgin and Burkes. It looked the same, if a bit more new looking. "Borgin and Burke's seems all right."

He side-eyed the shop. "I don't think you'll want to go there, Amelie.."

Amelie shrugged. "Why not?"

"A lot of Dark wizards go in that shop, is all."

"Nothing's dark or light for me except for the time of day."

"I just don't think –"

"Come on, what's the worst that can happen?"

Tom must have realized that Amelie wasn't going to let up, because he followed her into the shop, looking as if he didn't want to be seen.

When she entered, she was surprised. At first she thought that the man at the counter might have been a younger Mr. Borgin, until she realized he was far too young to be him, and at first glance far, far too handsome.

The boy looked to be around seventeen or eighteen, with stiff posture and sharp aristocratic features. When he heard Amelie and Tom enter together, he spun around with a pleasant smile on his face, which faltered slightly once his eyes landed on Tom.

"Hello Riddle," Tom said. "Is Mr Borgin or Mr. Burke around?"

"Yes, sir. Mr, Burke is in the back. Would you like me to get him for you?" his voice was smooth, and he passed a glance towards Amelie, with an expression that she couldn't read.

"Yes please, Riddle, if that's not too much trouble."

The boy disappeared into the back room, where Amelie had been many times before. While they waited, Amelie glanced around the shop. There was a large cabinet that she could see hidden behind a corner, as well as a glistening necklace in a glass case. There were a few objects that even she recognised from her time.

She drew her attention back as she heard footsteps returning to the front of the store.

"You again?" Mr. Burke said, his eyebrows raised momentarily. Amelie smiled apologetically at him.

"Uh, you've met before?" Tom said.

"She apparated into my shop last night. Scared the living daylights out of me, too."

"Apparate? How can she apparate? She's a Squib."

Amelie shot a glare at Tom, passing a glance towards the boy, who was returning to his dusting. He looked like he was busy, but Amelie could tell that he was listening to the conversation. She didn't like other people revealing she was a Squib unless she was saying so herself. She never knew what other people's reactions would be. Still, the boy went on with his dusting and didn't seem to care whether or not she was a Squib.

"A squib? Then how could she have apparated into my shop?"

"Maybe she walked in and you weren't paying attention."

Mr. Burke narrowed his eyes at Tom. "What are you here for, Tom?"

"Amelie needs a job, and she seems to think that here is the best place to get one."

"A job, eh?" Mr. Burke said, and narrowed his eyes at her. "You could try anywhere in Diagon Alley, why here?"

Amelie shrugged. "Doesn't seem too bad of a shop."

"' _Doesn't seem too bad of a shop'"_ Mr. Burke mimicked. He seemed a bit more touchy than he was last night. "You know what kind of products we get here?"

"Yes." Amelie said simply.

"And you think it's not 'too bad of a shop,' considering the products we get?" It was a simple question, but the way he was asking it made it seem like he was expecting her to turn and run away.

"Look, if you're not hiring, just say so.I'm not here to debate morality, I'm here to get a job. I've got experience, you won't even need to train me. I've worked in a shop exactly like this." Said Amelie sharply. When she asked for a job from Mr. Borgin, he just hired her with no questions asked. She wondered if Mr. Burke would turn her down.

He looked slightly taken aback, and then his features softened slightly. Good. He was considering her now. "We expect our workers to be well versed in the Dark Arts and the defence against them. Would a Squib such as yourself know anything of this?"

Amelie hesitated. While it was true she could not defend herself if someone brought in a cursed object (she was learning that lesson the hard way), she wasn't exactly clueless. "Sir, I can defend myself if I need to. Maybe not with magic, but It's not like I'm clueless."

Mr. Burke shrugged. "Fine. Let's put you to the test. You're hired. When can you start?"

"As soon as possible." Tom said before Amelie could say anything. "She's trying to pay her rent at the Leaky Cauldron, too Mr. Riddle."

I suddenly recognised the boy as the one who had brushed past me in the morning.

"What a coincidence." Riddle said with a small smile, looking straight at Amelie.

She smiled back vaguely. His smile seemed very fake. But as she turned back to Mr. Burke, a feeling of genuine happiness washed over. What luck! It was true that she didn't enjoy working at Borgin and Burkes, but it was going to be something familiar, and at least she'd be able to stay at the Leaky Cauldron just like she was doing before, as she found a way to get home.

"You'll start tomorrow, then. Tom, you'll be able to look after her, I think?" Mr. Burke said.

At first she wondered why he would be asking Tom to look after her, but she realized he was looking at the boy, and figured that Tom was his name, too.

Her face screwed up. "I don't need-" but then Tom the barkeeper elbowed her gently on the arm and gave her a pointed look to be quiet.

"Of course, Mr. Burke." Riddle said. If he noticed Amelie's reaction, he didn't say anything.

Mr. Burke nodded once. "Be here by nine o' clock. Riddle will sort you out."

Amelie nodded, knowing that Riddle would not need to do any sorting of her whatsoever. Mr. Burke left to go into the back room once more.

She was about to leave, but Riddle strode over to her. He was taller than her by a few inches. He struck out a pale hand. His blue veins stood out.

"Tom Riddle," he introduced himself.

She took his hand, dark skin contrasting against his fair hand. He had a strong grip.

"Amelie Shaker."

He let go of her hand, and caught her eye for a moment, before Tom cleared his throat.

"Well, now that that's done, Amelie would you want to stay in Diagon Alley for a while, or come back to the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Oh. I'll come back I think."

"Great, we'll sort out your new room too,"

She glanced at Riddle, who nodded towards her. "Good luck." He said.

On the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Amelie assured herself that nothing had really changed. _The only difference is that I have no family. But I'll get back to them soon. All I have to do is find that woman who gave me that cursed orb._

Maybe it wouldn't be easy, but it was the beginnings of a plan. There had been other people who that woman had sent away. She didn't know how long ago it was, but she couldn't have a doubt in her mind that they were still alive. She just had to find out who they were.


	4. Chapter 4

Her new room looked the same as the one she had before she came to the past. It wasn't the same number, of course. She found out not long after that that one was, in fact, being occupied by Tom Riddle.

It almost made her squeamish to think that the place that she called 'her room', was not really hers. It was just one that she paid for that other people had used numerous times before.

She'd had her day of training with Tom Riddle the day before. He'd watched her warily, but soon came to know that she knew exactly what she was doing, and she didn't need his help at all. He left her alone, most of the time, but sometimes Amelie went up to him to him when she was unsure where a particular object went.

Amelie had taken precautions not to fall into another trap like the one with the orb, and had taken to wearing dragon hide gloves she discovered in the Lost and Found tub at the Leaky Cauldron. They were cut almost like gardening gloves, which was very unfashionable for Amelie's standards, but decided that once she got her first pay at the end of her shift, she would buy some new ones in Diagon Alley, as well as some new robes.

Few customers came into the shop, but whenever some did, they often left with their money pouch considerably lighter no matter whether they were buying or selling. She had to admit, that after a few days working there, that Tom usually sold the most things, especially to the women who came in. A flash of white, straight teeth, a few words in a low, nearly seductive tone, and his intense stare seemed to make anything irresistible to the buyers.

A few times, when the days were especially slow going, Amelie attempted to make small talk with him, he was usually responsive and asked her many things about her in return.

"So, you went to Hogwarts yeah?" she asked. After he nodded, she continued, "what house were you in?

"Slytherin," he said.

Amelie nodded slowly. She, of course, had heard all the presumptions that Dark wizards came from Slytherin at a proportionately higher rate than the other houses of Hogwarts, but since she never attended, she did not put much faith into this stereotype. "That's cool. I think if I wasn't a Squib I'd be in Hufflepuff."

The corner of Riddle's mouth twitched.

"What?" Amelie said. "I think Hufflepuff's values are the best out of all the houses. Kindness, hard-work, and loyalty isn't a bad thing."

"Maybe not…" Tom agreed. "But neither is ambition or resourcefulness."

"Never said it wasn't. Anyway, I also think the housing system is a bit stupid, really. They try to preach house unity but how can you have house unity if all the students are separated depending on whatever personality traits an eleven-year-old might be feeling on a particular day."

This conversation seemed to draw Riddle's attention astutely. "I've never really thought about it that way… but I think the houses are better for the education of the students as a whole. You'll find like-minded friends much quicker…"

"But that's all, isn't it? And I'm sure you have friends from other houses, too, not just Slytherins."

Riddle just shrugged. "I kept to myself at Hogwarts."

She glanced at him, wondering if it was true. Somehow she doubted that he was unpopular, but his stand-offishness did seem like it would be hard for someone to approach him, to actually be friends with him.

He walked away from the counter, where he was enchanting a piece of cloth to wipe down the glass windows showcasing expensive goblin-made jewellery and was now enchanting a duster to fly around the shop to clean all the surfaces.

With his back to her, he asked: "How did you know you're a Squib if you're an orphan?"

Amelie's breath hitched, and she looked down. Damn Tom for spilling the beans on something that wasn't even true. Amelie guessed that if she really was an orphan, she would have been much more upset at Tom for declaring to the whole world (the little shop where there were only three people in there at the time) that she was an orphan when there wasn't really a need to know. "Er… I was raised by my grandparents." She said quickly.

"I see," he said slowly. Amelie had an odd feeling that he knew that she wasn't being truthful.

He twirled his wand as an almost boyish action and placed it in the pocket of his robes. Amelie used to be filled with envy at her siblings when they brought their first wands back when they got their Hogwarts acceptance letters. She spent endless nights cursing herself for being so magically inadequate, and, she was almost ashamed to admit it even to herself, cried a few of those nights to sleep.

She had long lost the bitterness. There were many other things to fill the void of magic. Science, and her beliefs.

Her parent's thought it was stupid, that she would practise Muggle witchcraft. She never considered herself a Wiccan, religion was a matter entirely different to why she decided to bring mundane magic into her life. But things like crystals, tarot cards, horoscopes, or scouring the internet for spells and potions to enhance her memory when sitting an exam, or spells for justice when she felt like she was wronged in some way made her feel like that even though she wasn't biologically magical, there were ways to bring magic into her own life, anyway.

She shifted on the stool she was sitting on, behind the counter at the till. She inspected her shoes. She only bought the Adidas runners a few days ago, after saving up her galleons and exchanging them at Gringotts bank into Muggle money. They should have looked out of place here, but she guessed that Riddle might have been pureblood, and not knowledgeable about the fashion trends of the Muggle world. He hadn't even questioned her gloves.

She didn't know many purebloods, but she thought they might have looked like him, with perfectly combed hair, sharp features, and a sense of haughtiness, like they thought they were better than anyone who was breathing the same air as them.

There was also something odd about Tom's features, that Amelie couldn't put a finger on. She'd noticed it after a few days of being in his presence, but she could never get a proper look at him long enough to get it, he always seemed to be ever moving.

The door swung open, and Mr Borgin stepped in. When she met him again, she almost didn't recognise him. He was younger, obviously, his hair less grey and his face less lined. But he even seemed happier somehow, and more active. He never smiled, but she could just tell that it was a change from the Mr Borgin she knew, who always seemed to be in a bad mood.

A part of her wondered why the Borgin she knew didn't recognise her when she first started working at Borgin and Burkes. Maybe he had forgotten all about her. After all, she wasn't planning on staying for long.

He nodded a greeting, then turned to Riddle, speaking in low tones that Amelie could still catch snippets of words from. "Hepzibah Smith…" Borgin was saying. "Many treasures… very valuable… think you could…?"

Tom nodded. "Of course, Mr Borgin. When would you like it to be done by?"

"… might take a while… start now…"

Riddle nodded and grabbed a note that Borgin had given to him and read it quickly. He retrieved his wand from his pocket and noticed Amelie staring at him. She looked away quickly, wondering if he would take very kindly to knowing she had been eavesdropping, even if it was just Borgin requesting he make a house call – and she knew he was, she had done plenty while she had worked there, trying to swindle valuable objects from some very rich wizarding families.

She watched as Riddle left the shop, turned on his heel, and apparated somewhere unknown.

Borgin looked at her, barely a glance, and grabbed the receipts from the receipt spike and went into the back room to count his profits for the day.

Amelie, alone once more, grabbed the duster that had fallen to ground the moment that Riddle Disapparated, and wanting something to pass the time, began to wipe down the cluttered surface of the shop. She dodged many of the objects, unsure how delicate they were if they were likely to explode in her face, curse her once more. She would leave those for Riddle to clean… surely he would understand her apprehension.

As she cleaned, she became lost in her thoughts. In the daytime, the streets of Knockturn Alley were not packed, and barely anyone came in for the while it took her to clean. She had only been here, stuck in the past a few days, but she had not made any effort to find out if anyone else like her had been in a similar position of time travel.

She knew she would have to venture out again into the Muggle world to find out – the woman had said she used the orb only on Muggles – and she knew that they wouldn't have kept silent on the fact that they had been thrown years into the past.

But the problem was that she did not want to go back to London, did not even know how to start. She couldn't whip out her phone and Google time-travelling conspiracy theories. The next best thing would be a library, maybe. And then she had to face the prospect of going outside by herself where people, she knew, would be more vocal of her opinions of her. Was London such a diverse community as it was in the twenty-first century? She thought not. Not that she had never been the target of racism and prejudice even then…

But still, if she wanted to get back home, she had to go out into that world. Perhaps she could ask someone to help her. Maybe Tom, though he would probably decline, being busy with the Leaky Cauldron as it was… who then, could she ask? Riddle maybe… they both worked full time and had some of the same days off… she wouldn't have to tell him everything. She just needed to go to a library, and he just had to go with her.

Mind made up, the moment Riddle came back, she would ask him. If he refused… well, she would either have to ask someone else or face the world of Muggles alone.

At the end of her shift, a wizened wizard sold a few ancient books which seemed to have dark red stains splattered on the pages, which Amelie had to hold very gingerly in her hands for fear that they would crumble to dust as she set them on the bookshelf, and only sold a charmed crystal ball that would make the user see only omens of death whenever they looked into it.

Amelie also noticed that once in a while, there would be a gaggle of young girls peering through the windows, but they wouldn't look at any of the objects. Their glance would flicker from Amelie's and search around the shop, and they would leave, disappointed glances on their face. She thought she knew why, and she almost started to call them Tom Riddle's fan club, if it wasn't for the fact that sometimes there would be men of the same age that would do the same. Still, she knew that they were looking for Riddle because when he was around he would leave the shop for a few moments and hold a conversation with his friends. He never permitted them to enter the shop - at least, not when Amelie was around.

He was a mystery, Riddle. Polite, but never friendly. Talkative, but never particularly open. There was always a part of him that left Amelie wanting to know more, a certain charisma that drew her in. Maybe having a friend wouldn't be so bad, and maybe he was lonely too… he seemed like it, even if he didn't show it. And once she knew if she could trust him or not, he might be able to help her on her quest to get back home, and it didn't hurt that he had magic either.

She almost fell asleep once the end of her shift drew near, sitting on the stool with her hand resting on the desk holding her head up, her eyes dropping to a close, when the bell at the door jingled, alerting Amelie to the fact that they had a customer.

But it wasn't a customer, it was Riddle, returning nearly eight hours later he had been dispatched for a house call. Amelie, who had quickly jumped to attention sidled back down to her position, as Riddle gave her a quick glance at her and went to go to the back room to hold a conversation with Mr Borgin.

She assumed he had not been successful in acquiring the item that Mr Borgin sent him to Hepzibah Smith's home because she had prior experience in moments of these successful journeys where she would have to display the items as soon as she entered the store again.

Riddle's return had jump-started her brain, and she was slowly coming to the conclusion that she should ask Riddle to accompany her to London tomorrow. It was both their days off tomorrow, so she knew that it would be hard for Riddle to find an excuse to say no.

She waited for him to come out, knowing that it was the end of his shift too. When he did, she called out, "Riddle, hold on a sec."

He paused, a few steps away from the door, and turned.

"Um, I was going to London tomorrow. I need to go to the library for something. Do you want to come with me?" Amelie said, trying to keep the plea out of her voice.

"London?" Riddle said almost incredulously. It was the first show of emotion she'd seen since she met him.

"The Muggles aren't that bad, you know," Amelie said. "And it won't be for long. Just to the library and back, please."

He looked as if he was trying to find the most polite way to say no. "Can't you go there yourself?"

"Well, I don't know if you know this, but it'd be a bit tough for me to go out to London by myself with my complexion."

"I thought you said the Muggle's weren't that bad," he muttered looking away, Amelie, taken aback, realised her must have known exactly what she was going to say before she said it. He had known she was hesitant to go out into London. "Surely you could take someone else along with you."

"I don't know anyone else. Please, Riddle. I'll owe you big time if you do this for me."

His eyes flashed, and Amelie knew her addition of a favour for him got him on board, though she had no idea what she, a mere Squib, would be able to do for a wizard. She just assumed he would forget about any such promise of a favour in the end, anyway.

"Fine," he said, peering at her so intensely that she had to look away. "I'll come with you. But just to the library."

"Thank you," Amelie said, giving him a small smile, which he didn't see, as he had just turned around and left Borgin and Burkes.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys, I'm really sorry for the long hiatus! I've made my original novel my top priority so that meant this one had to go to the backburner for a little while. But I'm waiting on feedback now, so it's back to this!**

Amelie woke up that morning and automatically turned over to check her phone. Her hand reached nothing but the mattress, the fabric pilled and rough against her skin as she slept. In that second, she remembered what had happened to her. That she didn't have a phone. That she wasn't of her time.

She lay in bed for a few moments. Checking the old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table, which had ticked tauntingly through the night. 8:27. Since she usually woke up at 6 o clock every morning for her early classes, she considered that sleeping in.

The events of the previous day came rushing back to her. Riddle had agreed to go to London with her. She would try and find something… anything to find her way home. She had thought it through the night before she went to sleep, and the idea seemed to solidify in her mind.

She stripped the covers off her bed and picked up her clothes hanging off the wooden chair in front of the vanity. A few days ago, she had bought new pyjamas from a shop in Diagon Alley with her first pay check, as well as some robes to wear. But now she was going to London, she thought the robes might look even stranger than her Muggle clothes, no matter how 'exposed' everyone told her she looked in them.

She didn't want to rely on other people to _scourgify_ her clothes for her. So she had made Tom find some laundry soap for her to wash her clothes manually. The only problem was that she had nowhere to dry her clothes other than on the back of the chair, so they were left with strategically placed wrinkles that she hoped wouldn't be too noticeable.

She moved to the bathroom, having soon become accustomed to the talking mirror that sometimes shouted out snarky suggestions about her appearance. She inspected her hair, sighing. She had straightened it a week before and had avoided washing her hair since she came to the past, not having any of the products she needed to maintain her naturally curly hair, but already it was forming slight waves. She pulled her hair into a bun and closed the door behind her. Stripping out of her clothes, she drew a bath.

There was soap and small bottles of bubble bath which left a sweet-smelling scent on her skin long after she dried off. The baths were something she looked forward to every morning, the stress of her problems fading into the background, if only for a moment.

She lost herself in her thoughts, in her plans of getting home. She didn't like to stay long in the bath, usually getting bored after while with nothing to entertain herself.

When she was satisfied she was clean enough, she got out of the bath and towelled herself dry. She stepped into her clothes and fresh, new underwear (the only venture to London a few nights before that she thought worth taking).

She rinsed her face with water and sighed. Once they came back from London, she'd take a trip to Diagon Alley to Enchantress Beauty, which she was happy to see had only opened up shop a few years before, to renew her skincare and haircare products.

She pulled on her shoes and waited at the door for a few moments. She hadn't really planned out the day with Riddle. Would he still be sleeping? She wanted to get the trip over and done with, so she could focus on getting back home.

She opened the door, heading to room 27. Riddle occupied her room – the one she lived in before coming to the past. She had seen him coming out of it when he would come out for breakfast. It felt odd to be knocking on her own door, as she did so.

It was only a few seconds before the door swung open. Riddle was fully dressed, his hair neatly combed. "Shaker." He greeted.

"All ready to go then?" she asked.

He nodded. "Would you like breakfast first or shall we be leaving for London now?"

"Breakfast, then Gringotts. I'll exchange some of the Galleons for Muggle money, just in case."

He nodded. "Would you like me to accompany you to Gringotts, or do you think you can make it on your own?" He said, his tone was almost like he was talking to a small child, which wasn't lost on Amelie.

Amelie shrugged. "Come if you want to. I don't mind."

She lead the way downstairs, where she and Riddle ordered their breakfast. Amelie – eggs benedict, and Riddle toast and jam – She got a seat a two-seater table and Riddle joined opposite her, as they waited for their food.

"Which library are we going to?" Riddle asked after a few moments of an awkward silence.

"The British Library," Amelie said. It would be extensive enough, and she knew they would have newspaper archives there. Maybe if someone had made as much as a fuss about it, they would have gotten into the newspaper.

"Do you mean the London Library? Or the British Museum Library?"

"Er…? Whichever you think has the most newspaper archives.' she said, hesitating. Did the British Library not exist yet? She had never really paid attention to when it was established.

Riddle shrugged. "We'll go to the London Library, then. And there are fewer people." He looked directly into Amelie's eyes as if he was expecting her to say something.

"Oh, okay. That's fine." She said though it didn't seem to be what he wanted to hear. A line creased his brow as he frowned. He looked away from Amelie, hollowed cheekbones intensified by the shadows of the light. His skin was so pale she wouldn't have thought it possible, and she blinked, trying to decide what exactly it was that was _off_ about him.

He turned back to her, and she averted her eyes.

"What?" he asked.

Amelie shrugged. "Nothing."

He started picking at his toast. He ate slowly, but not like he was savouring it, more like he wanted to extend his time here in the Leaky Cauldron with Amelie.

A few moments later, her eggs benedict materialised, and she cut through the poached egg with her knife.

"Whare are you from?" he asked finally.

"My parents are Ethiopian." She said. She had been expecting this question.

"You don't have much of an accent."

"Oh," Amelie said, swallowing. "Well, my parents – er – grandparents I mean, live in London."

"Right," Riddle said. He didn't tear his eyes off her as he went to take a bite of his toast.

She knew she needed to think of a better backstory if she didn't want to alert anyone that she was from the future. She knew she would have to confide in someone about this, but she wanted it to be someone she trusted. She knew that soon, the wizarding world would turn into dark times, and she didn't want to make the mistake of trusting someone so easily and then they be the one to practise something horrific.

"Stop," she said, squirming under his gaze.

He looked surprised, eyebrows raised slightly. "What?"

"Staring at me. It's creepy."

He looked away. He didn't smile, but he still looked amused somehow. "I apologise. I have been told that I have an unnerving look."

"Yeah, well they would have been right."

They ate in silence again. Riddle rather slowly, but Amelie finished her eggs in about a minute. Riddle stood up the moment she did, his toast unfinished. "Gringotts, then?" he asked.

"Er, yeah." She said. "Let's go."

They left for Diagon Alley, Riddle taking out his wand and tapping the bricks in the formation where it opened up into an archway.

Amelie led the way to Gringotts, sure that Riddle was following. They reached the massive marble building that always took Amelie's breath away every time she looked at it. She heeded the sign before her, warning entrants not to steal and entered through the massive wooden door.

She heard Riddle exhale loudly and glanced at him. His stoic, inexpressive look had dropped, and he was looking around as if he had never even entered Gringotts or seen a goblin before.

He noticed her watching him, and quickly schooled his features of one of disinterest. He motioned as if to say, 'lead the way.'

She did so, making her way up to a goblin, at one of the desks. "Hello," she said brightly, pulling out her money pouch and taking out two silver sickles. For some reason, they did not pay as much at Borgin at Burkes as they did in the future. Amelie chalked this down to inflation. She knew in history that things were much cheaper than they were in her time, but didn't know too much about it., "I'd like to exchange this for Muggle money please."

The goblin extended a wrinkly hand, and she placed the Sickles onto his palm, he weighed the money as if expecting it to be fake.

He bustled over to a register and unlocked it, counting out the pounds. He came back to Amelie holding the money in his long-fingered, long taloned hand. "Thank you very much," Amelie said, bowing her head politely as she reached for the money.

When she realised the amount he had given her, she thought there had been a mistake. "Hang on, you've given me twenty-three pounds!"

Even for an inflation, she thought that couldn't have been right at all. A sickle barely made for a cent!

"Yes. Two silver sickles make twenty-three pounds."

"Er – are you sure?" Amelie asked.

"Quite," the goblin said, narrowing his eyes at her.

She hesitated, knowing that the goblin probably wouldn't take kindly if she suggested that he didn't know how to do his job.

"Oh…" she said. "That's quite… unexpected. Thank you."

He nodded, and Amelie turned around, thinking that there was no way a sickle would be worth so much… if she had her entire bank balance in this time… she would be rich enough to live out the rest of her life rather comfortably.

She must have looked like she was in a daze because Riddle was looking her strangely.

"It's just so wild…" she said to herself as they exited Gringotts. "Dude… that's so much money."

"Excuse me?" Riddle asked.

She turned to him, a smile beaming on her face. "Is everything, like, really cheap in London, because honestly…" she looked back towards Gringotts. "… maybe I should work even more… have heaps of money for when I get home…"

"Well, there has been a war, you know… it's probably not as cheap as it could be. But-" his eyes narrowed as he looked into her eyes, and Amelie felt as if he was searching for something, somewhere behind her eyes.

His expression turned peculiar.

"What is it?" Amelie asked, the smile wiping from her face. Oh, Merlin. Did she let something slip? Her daze about money might have been odd. But it couldn't have been that strange, could it? She imagined herself in Riddle's position. She would have found her ramblings strange, but it probably wouldn't have alerted her about being from a completely different time…

He slowly turned away from her, and she thought she might have seen the first expression other than disinterest on his face – a very small smirk, and a questioning glint in his eyes. A very slight change, but Amelie picked it up nevertheless.

"Nothing… nothing at all…" Riddle said. "Come on, then. Let's get to the library."

Was she just being stupid? Paranoid? Who was Riddle anyway? She had never heard his name before, surely he wouldn't have been that important of a figure in her time, incongruous, a no one, no impact at all on her time…

But a smirk and a glint in his eye didn't mean that he knew anything. Maybe he was just excited to be going to London.

But still… if someone – especially a wizard knew of her predicament, maybe they would help her to get home…

She decided quickly, that she would wait and see. If she started a friendship with Riddle, see if she could trust him, she would tell him herself, but only if she couldn't make progress on her own.

* * *

Riddle apparated them into an alleyway away from Muggle's prying eyes. He quickly relented his hand on her wrist, and they made their way out of the alleyway.

The library was nothing at all what Amelie expected it to be. She had gone past it a few times whenever she was out with friends, or on her way to study but she had never gone it. She remembered it looking like a clean, respectable building with a number of steps leading up to the door and multiple stories.

Amelie knew now why Riddle had looked for a reaction other than silent acquiescence. Because the library was in a state of complete disrepair. It looked like it had been bombed – and she realised, considering the time she was in – it probably had.

"Jeez," she said quietly. "This is crazy."

She could hear hammering, she wondered just how extensive the damage had been. "Can we still go in?"

Riddle indicated to the people come and go from the library. "I would assume so,"

"I wonder if we'll find anything."

"What is it that you're looking for?"

"Just… some topics of interest. Nothing for you to worry about."

Amelie walked through the entrance, the door was propped aside with a chair and the people she walked past gave her a wide berth to let her through. She tried not to think too much of it, to not let it get under her skin.

Riddle was looking at her a bit too long as he followed her to the front desk, where the librarian was eyeing them warily.

Amelie's heart skipped a beat as she turned away from him. The feeling that he knew wouldn't leave her.

But then again… Amelie always had a habit of jumping to conclusions, maybe he didn't know anything (which she doubted). In any case. If Riddle had any suspicions, well, he could just ask her about it. But that didn't mean she would be honest about it.

She walked up to the librarian, who had a small smile on her face. Her glance shifted to Riddle's first, before realising that Amelie was the one who had come up to ask her a question.

"Um, hello," Amelie said. "I was just wondering if you had any articles about time-travel?"

The librarian raised her eyebrows, "Time-travel? An odd request…"

"I have an interest," Amelie said.

She nodded, looking away from her. "Well, let's see." She reached under her desk and pulled out a massive file of papers. "Newspaper articles, yes?"

"Yeah," Amelie said. She turned around to look at Riddle and saw him standing a few metres away, his arms crossed, looking around at the establishment looking almost as if he wanted to bomb it all over again. When he noticed her looking, his quickly schooled his face into one of blankness. But Amelie still felt as if she had seen him without his guard up, and she wasn't sure if she liked what she saw without it.

She turned back around to the librarian, who was thumbing through the pages of the index file until she reached one that seemed promising.

"Well, there don't seem to be any articles about time-travel just yet, unless you're looking for some fiction novels I don't think I can help you."

Amelie felt a wash of disappointment roll over her. "Oh really?" she said and sighed. "That's fine. But thanks."

The librarian smiled, and Amelie was thankful for her kindness when she thought she would find none here.

"I do think there is a group for purveyors of paranormal activity that started up a few months ago, however. You could look into that if you wanted to?"

"Maybe," Amelie said. She made note of it in her mind. That would be her next step. She gave the librarian a smile and returned to Riddle.

"Did she tell you anything about what you're looking for?" he asked.

Amelie shook her head. "No. Sorry for wasting your time."

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't mean the day is over, do you?"

"Well, we went what I came for and they don't have it, so…"

"You don't need new clothes or anything like that?"

"Oh, well, I guess…" she didn't want to stay in London longer than she needed to, but she didn't want to voice her anxieties to Riddle. She thought his wizard upbringing would have blinded him to the history of Muggles, and she didn't want to explain all of that to him.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"No, but it's just… can't be bothered." She lied.

They walked out of the library together, but Riddle still wasn't letting it go, and she wasn't sure why.

"I'm probably not even going to come back out here, anyway, so…"

"Well, you never know what the future holds, right?" he gave her a look that made Amelie think for certain that he knew. He knew and she didn't have a clue how he could have picked up on it so quickly.

"Well… except for seers, right?" Amelie said after a moment.

"Right…"

She didn't know why she was playing dumb, why she didn't just outright tell Riddle that she wasn't of this time. It really was the smartest thing to do, at least he would be able to help her, rather than just relying on Muggles to help her find her way back. But the way he looked at her right now… the way she sometimes caught him looking at her when he thought her back was turned… like she was a curiosity, but not the _good_ kind of curiosity. It was the same way her biologist friends looked at a specimen they wanted to dissect.

And she didn't like that look at all.

"What are those clothes you're wearing anyway. They're very odd."

"They're traditional," Amelie said quickly, knowing he wouldn't believe her one bit, and honestly, she would have been lying if she didn't think it was funny.

He sighed, and Amelie had to fight to keep the small smile from spreading over her face.

"Well, I still think you should get some new clothes."

"Has anyone ever told you how controlling you are?"

"Not outright, no," he muttered.

"Well, if you pay I'll get something new." She said.

"So, I'm controlling and you're shameless."

"I'm not the one making me buy new clothes."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, but Amelie was surprised when he nodded. "Fair enough. Let's go."

"Wait, really?" she asked.

He nodded but didn't say anything else as he led her through the streets of London in silence. Amelie walked behind him. He walked somewhat stiffly, almost as if he was uncomfortable being out in the open. Amelie wondered if he felt anything similar to what she felt when she was in the wizarding world, but the opposite. Like he didn't belong in the streets of London, in this mundane world, when there was something so much _more_ just barely out of sight.

Whereas for Amelie, it was more like she didn't belong _anywhere._

They entered the first clothing store they saw, and the shopkeeper took one glance at Riddle and smiled at him and then her eyes landed on Amelie and her smile faltered and Amelie was convinced that she would have kicked her out if Riddle didn't put a hand on her shoulder and guided her around to the clothes racks and began pulling it certain items of clothing and talking to her in a voice loud enough for the shopkeeper to hear.

"Pick out anything you like, love." He grinned, but Amelie could tell it was strained. She hadn't seen him smile once since meeting him, and she thought she rather preferred him when his teeth weren't showing.

"Of course, honey," Amelie smirked. She looked around at all the clothes, at the high collars and the knee-sweeping skirts. She had never worn something so modest in her life. _When in Rome…_ she reminded herself. She ignored the bland outfit Riddle had pulled out, all browns and tweed and definitely not her style at all. Her eye caught on a red dress in the midst of neutral colours and she pulled it off the rack.

It was made of cotton and a neckline that would have dipped just below her collarbone if she tried it on, and a skirt that draped around her waist and hips like a blossom.

"How about this one?" she asked holding it up.

He looked at it. "If that's what you want…"

Amelie grinned. "I'll try it on then."

"It's fine if it doesn't fit I'll just magic it to fit you."

Amelie frowned. He spoke loud enough for the shopkeeper to hear him, and when she glanced her way, she saw that her eyes were wide and she was poised like she wanted to be anywhere other than here. Maybe she thought they were insane.

"Let's just pay and leave then," Amelie said quickly.

She didn't even realise he had drawn his wand out of his pocket until he had it pointed at the shopkeeper and was muttering the words, " _Obliviate."_

Amelie didn't even get the chance to see the effects of the spell occur because Riddle had grabbed her by the wrist, turned her around and left the shop with the dress still in her arms.

"What the hell?" Amelie hissed, pulling her arm away. "Why did you do that?"

"I don't have any Muggle money."

"I could have just paid, and you could have just paid me back in Galleons! You didn't need to obliviate her!"

"Oh well." He said. "What's done is done."

She was shocked about how lax he was being about all of this. The same person who told her off in a stern voice when she accidentally placed an item in the wrong place, could just obliviate a Muggle without paying any mind to it?

She suddenly felt as if the dress she was holding was dirty. "I'm going to return this." She said, stopping in the street.

"Are you?" he said, raising an eyebrow like he was challenging her.

She turned around and started walking back to the direction they came from, but before she could take even more than just two steps, Riddle grabbed her wrist and pulled her back none too gently. His fingers pinched her skin, and Amelie stared at it, heart jumping as he spoke.

"Are you really going to go back into the shop, looking the way, you do, dressed the way you do, and not expect any consequences."

She pulled her arm away, eyes blazing. "It's the right thing to do." She said.

Something about his comment bothered her, it wasn't really the comment about her appearance, but more the fact that he _was_ aware of Muggle racism. She had thought that he'd been closed off to the Muggle world for some reason, that he didn't know what it was like for racial minorities. But he did.

"She'll have thought you stole it."

"I know."

"Shaker. You aren't going back in there."

"Don't tell me what to do," she snapped.

"I'm not going to let you get arrested." He grabbed her wrist again and pulled her back. She stumbled on her feet and ended up tripping into his chest.

They both recoiled away like they had an electric shock. Amelie glared at him, but he still wouldn't let go of her wrist, and the air crackled around them. He dragged her into a corner, where she was still trying to get free from his grip, but it was like iron, hard and unmalleable. It was only when they were out of sight from Muggles that he apparated them into the Leaky Cauldron, immediately withdrawing his hand away, a pleasant smile on his face.

Amelie would display no such pleasantries. She spun away from him and stormed up the stairs to her room, footsteps thumping loudly on the hardwood, as she reached her room and slammed the door behind her.

She had never been so angry in her life. It wasn't just the obliviating of the Muggle, it wasn't just the stealing of the dress – which she threw on the ground the moment she realised she still held it in her hands, like a blood-red spot in the middle of the floor – it was the fact that he had treated her like she was a rag-doll, pulling on her arm repeatedly, apparating out of there before she even had a chance to make things right. He had touched her, physically forced her away from doing what she wanted. He didn't have any regard for her, any regard for her wishes.

She hated that. It reminded her of… well, it reminded her of worse times.

And it was hard trying not to fall into that trap of thinking she had no control. No control over herself, no control over her body, no control over anything.

From now on, she would distance herself from Riddle. She wouldn't ask him for any favours. She wouldn't talk to him at work. They'd just be strangers.

She could get home by herself.


End file.
